


Something For Me To Wreck

by Fudgyokra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: (For Jason), (Intersex Jason), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Swan Princess (1994) Fusion, Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Intersex, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Master/Pet, Mental Anguish, Multi, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, lots of iffy content but hey! p0rn!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 05:15:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17359700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: Slade was violent in that way, among others, but Jason never saw it boiling down to this, for all his inklings.





	Something For Me To Wreck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dedesan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedesan/gifts).



> I blame dedesan and her upcoming Swan Princess AU for making me thirst for this!
> 
> Some background: Jason is the swan prince and Slade is the evil wizard. Tara is Slade’s sort-of servant, sort-of protégé? He took her in when she was young, so she has Stockholm Syndrome out the wazoo. Don’t look for much sense/plot in this…I’m just here for the porn, hsakjghlg.
> 
> There's a very brief and vague JayRoy moment included because Roy is Prince Derek, but he doesn't actually show up in this fic, which takes place while Jason is trapped at the lake.
> 
> Title from Marilyn Manson’s “Threats of Romance.”

“What did I tell you about bringing the prisoner food behind my back?”

Tara, with a shameful drop of her chin down toward her chest, replied, “Not to do it. That it was his punishment for disobeying.”

“Good girl,” Slade cooed, his large hands dwarfing her small, bony shoulders as he wrapped them around her. Jason wanted to balk at the hideously false sincerity in the man’s voice, or perhaps at the way his thumbs fanned out and stroked her neck, but all he could do was stare vacantly into her face. The resignation there didn’t sit right with him in a myriad of ways. “Now, tell me what you did.”

“I…” Tara swallowed hard, made herself say, “I brought him food anyway.” Then, in a quick upward jerk of her face, looked at him beseechingly and added, “But he looked so frail, master. I didn’t think it would be fair to let him starve.”

Jason watched, horrified, when Slade’s hands came off her shoulders and clenched around her hips instead—a gesture she seemed to recognize, going by her flinch. “I’m sorry,” she said, automatically broken down again.

His chest ached for her. All this torment could have been avoided if she had just left him alone to rot. It’s not like Slade would have let him die. Eventually he would have found a way to enchant him, keep him from keeling over on the spot with hunger, of that he was sure. Slade was violent in that way, among others, but Jason never saw it boiling down to this, for all his inklings.

“You know how to apologize properly, pet,” Slade told her, and the telltale shine of tears glistening on her waterline struck Jason down to the marrow.

“Not here,” she said, not so much a defiant act as it was a plea. “Not in front of him.”

Their eyes locked, and Slade’s laugh played hauntingly in the background when he shoved her to her knees, then pressed one large palm between her shoulder blades to urge her upper half onto the floor. Jason’s voice caught in his throat, but he tried to object anyway, with a futile, “Stop!”

“You’re sweet on him, aren’t you, pet?” Slade pushed at her skirt until it bunched around her hips, and from what little Jason could see, he noted with a turn of his stomach that she wore nothing beneath, leaving everything bared to Slade in a sacrifice of pale skin. It coupled with a soft but no less jarring moan that made Jason’s blood run cold. “I knew it,” Slade said almost appreciatively. “Well, if you’re good, maybe I’ll let you taste him.”

Jason could practically feel the way his pupils shrank at the words, remaining frenzied while Slade tugged off one glove and reared it back to smack Tara across the backs of her thighs. The crack of leather made the boy flinch where he sat, shackled to the wall, but Tara did little more than bite her lip to stifle a whimper. He tried not to think about how many times she’d been subjected to this in the past. How long it might have taken Slade to _train_ her. If this was what he wanted to do to _him_.

The leather cracked again, and this time Tara pitched forward, hands scrambling for purchase on the smooth, unforgiving wooden floor. “I’m sorry, master,” she repeated, using his preferred honorific for emphasis. The worst part of it all was that she didn’t look pained or sad, just teary-eyed from the embarrassment and—and something else.

When her eyes met Jason’s again, they were blown wide. All he could see, think, or even taste was the permeating idea of Pavlovian lust that had put her here, god knows how many years ago. He knew Slade took her in young, but his knowledge was limited beyond that. He felt ill just thinking about what this man was capable of, what he must have done to her.

Another lash came, and Tara redirected her gaze to her palms beneath her as she stammered out, “It won’t happen again, master.”

Slade hummed, pleased. “You’re right. It won’t. Do you know why?”

“Because you’re going to punish me,” she answered automatically. Her voice held no tone other than complete resignation, whether it pleased or disgusted her.

“That’s right, little girl. And you know who else I’m going to punish?”

Jason’s heart ached when a gasp wrenched its way from Tara’s throat. The idea that, of all the threats, it was the thought that Slade might hurt _him_ that made her wary…it wasn’t pleasant. “No! I mean, please don’t hurt him, master.”

“Oh, I won’t hurt him. That’s a promise.” A promise indeed, although Jason could sense the threat looming there. He wouldn’t hurt him. Yet. Instead, he would take all his sick fantasies out on Tara, whose crippling reliance on the man cut so deeply he found he had to look away when Slade’s fingers disappeared between her legs, behind the hanging pleats of her skirt. Though what he could see was limited, Jason didn’t have to use his imagination to put an image to the obscenely wet sound of the man violating her, proving her willingness, however ingrained it might have been.

“Don’t,” he croaked, sickened. “Don’t hurt her.”

“I’m not,” Slade answered, aloof and calm as always. Jason hated him for it. “You’re fine, aren’t you, Tara?”

A quiet, watery, “Yes, master,” hit Jason squarely in the chest. “It—” a hard swallow, then, meekly, “it feels good.”

“What feels good?”

“Your fingers, master. But I want _more_.”

“Greedy little girl,” Slade said, twisting his wrist and diving in again, “with a greedy little cunt.”

Jason flinched, but Tara gave a shivery whine and arched her back for more. From where he sat, he could see into the drooping fabric of her shirt and found she wore no underthings beneath that, either. He looked away with a measure of shame, unsure of what he should do except close his eyes and wait for this to be over.

But then Slade spoke again, and the low, commanding thrum of his voice made Jason’s head swivel around before his brain could urge him to ignore it. “Perhaps you want your friend to play now?”

He could hear his breathing hitch just as Tara’s eyes hit his face. Even if she wanted to object, even if the way her pupils blew with interest meant more than plain lust, Slade’s question didn’t read so much as a suggestion as it did a command. It made a shiver run down Jason’s spine, but he didn’t dare say anything. Didn’t even think he could without his words shaking on their way past his chapped lips.

“Go on, then,” Slade said without even waiting for her response.

“But what if he doesn’t…” Tara seemed unwilling to speak the rest.

Slade read her like a book, anyway. “I don’t care for his preference. This is a punishment to _both_ of you for disobeying.”

No more arguments arose from Tara, who looked appropriately ashamed but crawled over to Jason’s near-useless body despite it all. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, before her thin fingers began working at the belt to his pants.

Jason found himself panicking before he could think better of it. “You—you’re not serious.”

Tara looked at war with herself. Her mouth twisted into a hurt frown, which Jason took a tic too long to understand was because she’d read his response as a rejection of _her_ and not of Slade, who looked on from his perch as if appraising two wild creatures being introduced to one another. It was as if he expected something volatile, something wild and animalistic.

She didn’t deliver on that front but did eventually resume her pawing at Jason’s zipper. He was too stunned to move, and by the time he regained his common sense, his legs were bare down to the knee and his voice stuck in his throat all over again.

With a fervor he recognized as greed, as something _primal_ , Tara spread her legs on either side of his lap and ground herself down onto him, slicking his softness until it twitched in regrettable interest. Her smell and the feeling of how alarmingly wet she was overcame his disgust with the situation, so much so that he had to close his eyes and swallow hard to discourage the rising bile from his own poisonous self-hatred. A punishment, indeed, to take such a natural desire and twist it until it became something forced and wrong. Worse, to make him want it.

Within seconds, he was traitorously hard and slick below that, muscles contracting around nothing while he focused on not twitching his hips in the direction of the warmth Tara gave off. It did absolutely no good; right as he opened his mouth in hopes his words might work again, she spread herself with her fingers and dropped down on him like he was made to fit her, and the only thing he could give was a weak groan and a desperate yank of his arms against his shackles.

He tried to focus on the clanking of metal against brick instead of the lewd sounds of their coupling, but by the end of his next breath she was kissing him, and once her tongue pushed its way past his parted lips and she whimpered against him, that spelled the end of his self-control. Lust consumed his brain like a fog, urging his hips to meet her every downward thrust, craving more of her wet heat and the way her walls clenched around him so perfectly it made his eyes roll back in his skull.

With hurried passion, Tara lifted her shirt over her head and discarded it without care for where it may land, then focused her intense gaze on Jason’s face while his own roamed without his permission, frantically searching along her pale skin as if expecting something. He didn’t know what.

_Spattered orange freckles. Hard lines of muscle. Scar tissue. Someone else._

A gasp pulled itself from his throat, followed by a breathy moan of want from Tara, who must have taken the shocked sound to mean something other than what it was—a painful reminder of who he should be sharing this with—and so grinded down harder, settling squarely against his hips and rutting in tight circles until she could find the right spot and stimulate it with proper pressure.

Jason’s eyes lowered to Tara’s hands. How one clutched at his waist while the other rubbed frantically between her lips, allowing flickering glimpses of her clit, shining wet and swollen with desire. “I’m gonna cum,” she breathed, leaning in until their foreheads rested together and then closing her eyes as she chased her bliss.

“Tara,” Slade admonished with a perfectly even tone. It was enough to jerk Jason partway from his stupor. He’d nearly forgotten they were being watched, but the abrupt reminder felt like being doused with ice water.

Tara didn’t seem to take it that way. Quickly, she corrected her mistake, sounding just as heated as before if not more so, “May I cum, master? Please, please, I want to so badly, _please_.”

“Don’t ask _me_ ,” he returned, amused.

The moment she sobbed out a broken call of Jason’s name, it was like his senses were reignited. Everything was hot, burning, _so close_. His arms jerked against his bonds again, this time with the overwhelming urge to pull himself free and bite her, mark her while he reached his own completion.

“Yes—!” he ground out desperately. It weighed heavy on his tongue after the fact, but it was too late to take it back. He had no choice but to watch her come apart on top of him, shuddering and keening sweetly, her face flushed and nipples pert, goosebumps rising on all other available flesh. It felt like something more divine than what it truly was, but all Jason could think about now was how the air smelled like sex and how he wanted more of it, no matter how ashamed he felt at the very fact.

His eyes must have looked wild when they darted to the movement from the other end of the room, because Slade chuckled at him as he approached. Jason heard that above all else, including his own thundering heartbeat, heavy booted footfalls, and Tara’s panting. What finally eclipsed it was the sound of chains rattling, and he realized immediately he was being unshackled. Freed. But relief was short-lived, because he was then forced to the floor, Tara toppling down with him, until he was on hands and knees above her, still inside and twitching with the redistribution of heat.

“Wait,” he choked, trying to ignore the dizziness overcoming him. For a heart-stopping moment, the only noise in the room was the sound of a zipper coming undone. When life reanimated, Jason was horrified to realize the swirling scent of alpha was what was keeping him down, unmoving aside from his body trembling with anticipation.

He looked down at Tara, whose blown pupils peered right past his head, up at her master. He wondered if that’s how he looked right now, so stupidly betrayed by his own biology.

His protests wouldn’t work their way past the lump in his throat, which contributed to the pitifully wounded moan that spilled from his mouth when Slade’s cock pushed into his cunt, sliding in place with no resistance from Jason’s complacent body. For the briefest of moments, it pinched, but once Slade’s hips were flush with his own, there came a kind of satisfaction so deep that he found himself whining. His fingers clawed at the floor on either side of Tara’s head, leaving marks behind.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” she whispered, forcing him to meet her gaze, this time straight-on. Again, he imagined how alike they looked with their pink faces, parted lips, and eyes darkened with need. He swallowed against another noise when Slade’s fingers hooked around his hips, holding him still while he withdrew and then brutally plunged back in.

The preventative measures to keep his voice in his throat failed him, and he released a loud shout that reverberated embarrassingly throughout the tower. As if he couldn’t hate himself any more, he automatically arched his back for easier access, then hid his face in the crook of Tara’s neck in one last-ditch effort to stifle the wanton moans falling from his lips.

Every thrust rocked his body forward into Tara’s awaiting heat, and amid the smacking of flesh-on-flesh were her tiny, sweet croons of pleasure spiking Jason’s adrenaline even higher. It was with a sudden sense of panic that he tripped into the beginning stages of orgasm, stuck between hot, rippling muscle around him and stiff thickness opening him up.

For all his despair, all he could manage was a weak, “You can’t…” that went ignored as Slade picked up speed, driving himself deeper to the tune of Jason’s defeated groans.

He screwed his eyes closed and focused on his breaths, expelled in rapid pants against Tara’s neck. All the while, her hands carded soothingly through his hair.

Though he’d remained silent up to this point, Slade pinpointed his moment to strike with a crude, “Be a doll and scream while I breed you proper.”

Whatever Jason had been about to say was eclipsed by a yell when Slade shoved his spine into a harsher arc, pushing him against Tara’s front until his elbows shook and then collapsed out from underneath him. When they were flush, Slade fucked into him harder, until the three of them were practically one unit moving in tandem.

Jason’s blood roared in his ears, drowning out both Tara’s whimpers and his own painfully loud shouts when he came, buried deep inside her.

He didn’t know how long it took Slade to finish, because time seemed to crawl to a stop afterward, leaving him in the dizzy purgatory of afterglow. He didn’t come back to the present until the urgent press of the alpha’s knot woke him up, and by then it was too late to do anything but gasp a scandalized, “No!” Just like before, he was ignored, and the swell popped into him with ease, dragging one more crumpled groan of pleasure from behind his pursed lips before an overwhelming tiredness took over.

Weary and sated came first. The burning regret and disgust didn’t come until they were all able to get to their feet again, where Jason did his best to affix Slade with his hardest glare. No matter the vitriol, the genuine loathing behind his gaze, he knew it was over. This was Slade winning. Taking what he wanted and leaving him to be claimed by the curse daylight would bring.

It was with a sinking feeling that he realized, for once, he was glad for the escape.


End file.
